


I would have your hands upon me

by DOE_ELLE



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Man loooooves Addy, Vaginal Fingering, Worship, murphy looooves warren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14183400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DOE_ELLE/pseuds/DOE_ELLE
Summary: Set after S03 E12 and S03 E14. Murphy faces down Warren in the nursery. The Man faces down Addison at the marina. Each man wishes the encounter had gone a lot differently.





	1. Chapter 1

The rattle of the corrugated metal door is maddening, but at least it keeps them from having to make awkward conversation. Murphy doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to see the pity that darkens her beautiful eyes when she looks at him. He closes his own mismatched eyes, thinks back to the nursery. Just the two of them, staring each other down. After the slings and arrows but before the blows started landing, remembering how she had looked at him as she took that one step closer. In that moment, just before the brain appeared from behind her back, her eyes playful, those lovely dark lips curved into a coy smile, the curls of her hair framing her face, trailing gracefully down her strong shoulders to the swell of her breasts...

He opens one eye, sees her focused completely on the road ahead. He wants to drink her in, worship her openly, stare at every inch of her. Instead, he closes his eyes again, imagining what it would have been like if that hand behind her back had been empty, reaching out to him...

_"You don't have to bite me, Murphy. I've always been on your side."_

She takes another step. The gap between them is closed now. He's terrified of moving, terrified of ruining what might happen next and then he feels the firmness of her chest against his as that hand brushes along his face, curls around the back of his head and pulls his mouth to hers. She tastes of earth and sweat with a hint of sweetness and he can't get enough, bringing his own hands to her back and pulling them tighter together as his tongue seeks entrance into her mouth. He feels rather than hears her moan, and what little bit of blood that was left in his brain goes south. She grinds slowly against his hardness and it's so good and too much all at once. 

_"Roberta," he murmurs into her mouth. "Roberta...please...please let me taste you."_

She pulls away and he realizes what he's said, how it must sound but praise that goddess, she knew what he meant. She backs up until her legs hit the sofa and sits down, that coy smile beckoning him. He's on his knees in an instant, running his hand over the roundness of her thighs. Slowly, reverently, he leans down to place light kisses where her skin is exposed through the tears in her jeans, then steadily adds more pressure, licking and sucking wherever he can, getting closer and closer to the apex of her thighs. He glances up and rejoices at her slight nod, hooking his fingers at the back of her pants. She lifts her hips slightly, just enough that he can slip her jeans over her ass and _sweet zombie Jesus she goes commando_. His soldier. _Of course she does_ he thinks, and he thanks each and every god he's never believed in for whichever forces brought him to this time, this place, with this woman...

_"Done already, Murphy?"_

_"With you? Not ever."_ He gets the pants down her thighs to her ankles, pulling them off and tossing them aside. She's smirking at him, eyes dark, challenging him to show her what he's got...And so he does, pressing his face between her legs and pushing them apart to rain kisses over her thighs and feel her soft shivers. Groaning, he hooks her legs over his shoulders in a sudden move, and gently nuzzles the soft down at the juncture of her thighs. He's rewarded with a light gasp, and then another, louder, when his tongue draws a long stripe up her center. Pausing only for a moment before he dives back in, licking lazy circles around her entrance, seeking out that tiny bundle of nerves so he can roll it between his fingers and hear the beautiful sounds she makes. One of her hands has found its way back to his head, clutching at handfuls of his hair, while the other is up her shirt, massaging her breasts. She looks down at him through half-lidded eyes and maneuvers out of her top, revealing them to him, perfect in every way. His mouth is on them in a second, lavishing every inch with wet kisses, while his fingers continue to stroke her clit, occasionally reaching down to feel the wetness pooling at her entrance. 

She's breathing heavily now, those beautiful breasts rising and following, nipples hard under his tongue. He almost misses it when she whispers _"Fingers"_ but the hand that reaches down to guide his leaves no question as to what she wants. He's slow, relishing every inch as he slides two fingers from his other hand into her heat. She's tight and wet around him and the thought of what it might feel like to have her wrapped around his cock is almost enough to make him cum right there. Swallowing hard, he slides his fingers out before pushing them back in with a slight twist, searching out every part of her inner walls until he finds the spongy spot behind her pubic bone that makes her shudder against him. Again and again he pushes into her, watching as her back arches under his ministrations and her eyes flutter, feeling like a god and a supplicant all at once...

She stops him, suddenly, and he could almost wail in grief but then she's pushing him down and kneeling over him, her hands at his belt, freeing his cock and _oh fuck_ she's sinking onto his length, leaning forward so that he can catch a nipple in his mouth as she takes him, pinned to the ground, helpless under her. She leans back, breasts bouncing as she rides him, one hand on his chest and the other rubbing her clit and she rolls and thrusts her hips, wringing every last drop of pleasure from the act. He's close, too, but he holds back, wanting to take her in turn, hoping she'll let him. Her thrusts start to get more frantic, the hand at her center nearly a blur, and then she's tightening around him, head thrown back as her cry of pleasure rings out. She slumps onto him and he'd happily hold her there, her hair spread out on his chest while she catches her breath, but then she's rolled them onto their sides, his chest to her back, and one hand is snaking between their bodies to line his cock up with her entrance once more. 

He takes the invitation, hooks one arm under hers and across her chest, palm splayed over a firm breast as he sheathes himself inside her. She's still _so wet_ but softer, more pliant and when she moves his other hand to her knee so he can get more leverage, he understands that his goddess is sated and generous. He pours everything into his thrusts, every memory of the times she saved him, the times she threatened him, hurt him, even, but always protecting him. He worships her with the grind of his hips, the slap of his thighs against hers, the delicious friction of her tightness around his cock, the softness of her skin and the hard muscle underneath it, and for that moment she is _his_ the way he is hers, has always been hers. And then, the familiar tightness gathers in his balls and he pulls out, pressing his cock against the cleft of her ass, roaring his pleasure as he marks her creamy skin. They lay like that, entwined, complete, silent except for his still-laboured breathing, until she calls to him, suddenly farther away...

_Murphy!_

The car stops with a jolt and she's out the door before he's fully awake, headed to the SUV behind them that's drifted off the road. He watches from the rear-view mirror, takes some calming breaths and carefully adjusts himself before joining her.


	2. Winner Gives All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Man has a very different vision of his showdown at the marina with Addison.

She ducks under the gas can but he’s ready, dropping his arms around her, trapping her against him. One tug and the zip tie secures around her wrists. One thick leg hooks around a slender calf and she’s falling. He catches her weight, softening the landing, but once she’s on her back the second tie is looping around her ankles and finally. A moment of peace. 

He dispatches the remaining Zs coldly, efficiently. Like he was trained to do. Like he always does. Except for a certain wine-haired stalker…He brushes off the thought, focuses on the primary target. Sees a flash of blue skin around a corner and heads the other way, cutting her off easily. She’s over his shoulder in an instant, fists bouncing uselessly off the solid wall of his back. Two ties for her, too, and into the backseat. Finally. A second moment.

The Man would have gone back to kill her, end this threat once and for all. He wouldn’t have paused at the car, taking his fleeting moment of peace to remember how she felt in his arms, the heat of her, the strength of her. So who was he, this other man, the one who wanted to do more than remember, who wanted one last look before he drove off, the one who was turning and walking back to where she lay, bound and … missing?

He wants to believe that he smelled her before he heard her; either way, she’s launched herself towards him, the glint of metal in her hands. He dodges her thrusts but she lands a swift kick to his shin, hard enough to knock his balance off, hard enough to hurt, but he’s not sure it’s pain that he feels. Ignoring a sharp, slashing pain in his side, he grasps her wrist, holding her hand and the knife to his body. It cuts deep but there’s no danger; he’s well-protected beneath the skin. He surges up, catching her other wrist in his palm, walking her back until she’s against the wall. Limbs restrained, she snaps her head towards him, but he straightens up and the impact that would have broken his nose is met by the hardness of his chest. And then he presses himself against her, keeping her well and truly pinned between his bulk and the weathered planks of the shed. 

And still he can feel the coil of her muscles, flexing where she could, pushing against every inch of him, seeking out any weaknesses in his grasp to exploit. Her eyes are dark with frustration but she refuses to avert her gaze, letting him know that he hasn’t broken her. She’s not ever going to stop, he knows this, knows it and realizes how much he craves it. All this time in pursuit of people off his list and this is the closest he’s come to understanding what it feels like to be afraid. Because she’s like him, and she won’t ever stop coming for him, and what scares him is the thought that this pursuit might end.

“Stop, Addison.” 

She flares her nostrils at him, incredulous at the thought that she’ll follow his orders. But that’s not what he means. What he means is,

“Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Isn’t that what you do? Hurt people?”

“I have a mission.” 

“So do I.”

“It's all I have.”

Does he imagine the way her eyes soften? 

“You have friends, Addison. Family. People who care about you. Why are you risking that?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hurt me. Boring me to death counts.”

He feels the mask slip for a second, and knows she sees the hurt in his eyes, but he doesn’t care, needs her to know that this is real and serious because they are both unstoppable forces and immovable rocks but she has so many people and all he has is her and because of that he’ll always need her more. Need this connection. 

“Addison. Let me have this. Please. Just let me have this.” And when he says it, he means this _fight_ , wants her to let him win, but also he means this, this heat, this closeness and she knows it, too, because those eyes definitely soften and when her mouth opens next it’s to place a soft kiss on his cheek. A third moment. He holds himself perfectly still, focused completely on this instant, taking it in with all of his senses. When she doesn’t pull back he shifts, finds her lips with his. She’s gentle at first, all softness, then slowly builds the intensity, darting her tongue out across his lips, opening hers in invitation, groaning softly when their tongues meet. 

When she pulls away breathlessly to ask him where the hell he learned to kiss like that, he could honestly answer, _I don’t know_. Instead, he asks if he can kiss her somewhere else and the flush on her cheeks tells him that she has an idea where and that he’ll like it. His grip has long been loose enough for her to fight him, but she hasn’t, and doesn’t, when he brings her wrists together so he can hold them in one hand as he kneels before her. The other hand trails down her side, brushing the swell of her breast, down to her waist, across her belly to the button on her jeans. His fingers undo it easily, and the zipper, and when he takes the fabric in his mouth her eyes fill with a desire that goes straight to his groin. His free hand snakes behind her back to grasp the hem and then slowly, he’s peeling off her jeans, admiring her practical black panties, the creamy expanse of thigh. 

She shifts her weight, helps him take them off the rest of the way with just his free hand. Does she notice how makes it makes light work of the snaps and clasps of her boots? _Extraordinary manual dexterity_ the reports always said. Excellent for weaponry, tools, combat…and making redheaded goddesses scream in pleasure...if she’d let him…

He traces the hand back up her leg, pausing to explore every curve, every freckle, every dimple. He manages to take his eyes off her and peppers both thigh with kisses, licks and gentle nips. She whines, softly, each time he changes course back down her leg, always moving closer to juncture of her thighs before pulling away, again and again until he sees the telltale spot of wetness spreading out along the fabric. Only then does he bring his free hand along the seam of her panties, press his face against her center, nuzzle against her. He wonders if he could ever make her beg for it, decides right then that he’d happily pursue that challenge until the day he died. But he doesn’t want to push his luck, just show her how much he values her submission, knowing she can take it away at any moment. 

These are probably her favorite pair, he thinks apologetically as he rips her panties at the seam, letting them fall down the other leg. Before she can protest their destruction, his mouth is on her hot center, tongue circling, tasting. It’s salt and sweetness and he can’t honestly remember if he’s done this before, but thinks he must have based on the sounds she’s making. They spur him on, and he spreads his fingers around each thigh, pressing his face into her, feasting. He feels one hand come to rest on his head and realizes, belatedly, that she’s no longer restrained, and thank God because her other hand is pulling at one of his, nudging it from the grip on her thigh towards the spot where his face is buried within her. He pulls away long enough to watch her eyes roll back as he slides a thick digit inside her, twisting, seeking out her walls. 

He wishes he could see her face when his lips settle on her sensitive bud, sucking slowly, but her breathless moan is a helluva consolation prize. He works her gently but insistently, pushing her pleasure higher with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, while a second finger works its way in along the first. He replaces his mouth on her nub with his thumb, needing to see her and nearly losing every last bit of control when he does. She’s arched against the wall, hips thrust toward him. The top of her shirt is pulled down, the hand that isn’t stroking his head is massaging her perfect breasts, pinching and rolling her hardening nipples. 

He catches her gaze through half-lidded eyes, and she knows what he wants, leans forward so he can catch a rosy peak in his mouth, tease each breast with nips and sucks, see her come undone at his hands. He watches the sweat bead along her chest, sees her eye lashes flutter, listens to each breath and groan, wondering if anyone else has ever made her feel this, wondering if any frat boy or emo teen had ever seen her like this, not caring if they had because this time it was _him_. His fingers are slippery, making wet sounds as they plunged into her depths. His other hand is stroking her clit, steadily increasing the pace and pressure. Her face is contorted with pleasure, limbs trembling, and she half-shouted, half-whispered “Oh fuuuuu…” before the word trailed often into a throaty cry, her walls fluttering around him. 

She sank against him and he caught her, spinning them both until his back was against the wall, her legs astride him, her forehead to his chest. Her swollen pussy was pressed directly against his throbbing cock, heat and moisture seeping through the fabric of his pants. She breathed heavily, breasts brushing against his vest. His hands were tracing soft patterns on her back and arms, marveling at the softness of her skin, knowing the strength that lay beneath. When she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze, her small smile gave him hope that he wouldn’t be finishing himself off behind the shed. As if to answer his prayers, both of her hands made their way down to his belt, pulling and prying at the buckle, reaching in and freeing his cock.

She shifted, sat up on her feet, and it was his turn to look away, eyes rolling to the heavens as she took him inside her, inch by glorious inch. Seated against him, each subtle roll of her hips sent shocks of pleasure down his spine. He moaned his appreciation, bringing his hands to her waist, letting her set the rhythm, willing to take whatever she'll give him, until she hooked her ankles around his knees and her arms around his neck, bringing her breasts to his face while she braced herself against him. He took the hint, grabbing her more forcefully, pulling her down to meet his thrusts, relishing the friction as her walls grasped at his cock.  
He put his full strength into it, knowing she could take it, loving that he was giving it to her this way where, with pleasure instead of pain. She was smiling at him, now, with true affection and his last bit of self-control faded away. A few more erratic thrusts and he was pulling out from her, growling as his release painted her belly and her shirt, his hips twitching as he milked each drop. She curled against him, holding him, keeping him in this, this endless moment where he _knew peace_ , didn’t just feel it…. 

Did he pass out? She was gone. It was dark, and cold. Cold and hard, stinking of asphalt. He opened his eyes, saw the roadblock, felt the sting where the bullet had hit the Kevlar beneath the skin and remembered. 

She hadn’t ducked the gas can. He’d assumed she would, assumed she was as protective of that face as she was, but the hard plastic had connected with a sickening crunch and he was furious – at himself, and at her. But there was no time to think; Lucy had gathered up more Zs and after the search and the explosion and the chase, another fight, at the river. The Man had grasped her wrist to dislocate her shoulder while the other man screamed at him to stop. Dragging her to the river, holding her there while Lucy screamed. Cold, efficient. But he had pulled her out, hadn’t he? Left her sprawled on the rocks. And she had come back to him. Back to kill him, of course. Him and only him. 

He pulled himself up to his feet and followed the road back to her.


End file.
